Hot Stuff

  Cate’s room was cheery, but not fabulous by Marty’s standards. Marty had a sheared mink throw on his bed and thousand-thread-count sheets. And he deserved all of that luxury, Cate thought. After all, the man shaved off acres of hair every day. Plus, he moisturized, he conditioned, he worked out, he tweezed, and he lasered, peeled, and Botoxed.

  It was midmorning and Cate was alone in the kitchen, frosting a cake. The phone rang and Cate gave it the fish eye. The phone was ringing on the hour, every hour. Three calls so far. All had hung up when Cate answered. She suspected it was the guy who was tired of waiting.

  Cate snatched the phone and gave a curt “Hello.”

  “Yikes,” Sharon Vizzalini said. “You sound cranky.”

  Cate had two best friends in the building. Sharon Vizzalini was one of them. Sharon was a realtor who lived one floor down in a condo crammed chock full of a former life. Four years ago, Sharon caught her husband bare-assed in the minivan with the babysitter. The very next day Sharon backed a U-Haul up to her four-bedroom, four-bath colonial in Newton. When the U-Haul couldn’t hold any more Sharon drove it to Boston’s South End, parked it in a lot, ran her finger down her listing sheet, and went condo hunting. Three weeks later she moved into Marty’s building.

  Sharon was older than Cate, and three inches shorter. She had curly black hair cut into a bob, a constant tan, a body toned in the local Pilates studio, and enough energy to make coffee nervous. Sharon favored animal prints for upholstery and clothes. She accessorized with big, clunky jewelry and didn’t own sneakers. Sharon was total Dolce & Gabbana in slingback heels. Sharon wore heels to the Pilates studio.

  “Not cranky. Just distracted,” Cate said. “What’s up?”

  “I was hoping you could bring me a sandwich. I’m watching 2B. I think this is the day. I think he’s finally going to walk out of his condo and show himself.”

  Cate swallowed a groan. Sharon was fixated on learning the identity of the mysterious resident in 2B. The unit had been bought by a holding company three months ago, and while occasional sounds and cooking smells oozed under the condo door, no one had seen the occupant.

  “I love you, but you’re sounding a little psycho,” Cate said.

  “It was bought by a holding company,” Sharon said. “Only celebrities and mobsters do that sort of thing. Aren’t you curious?”

  “Curious, yes. Obsessed, no.”

  “That’s because you don’t have the realtor personality. We need to know these things. We worry about property value.”

  “I’m frosting a cake. I can bring you a sandwich as soon as I’m done.”

  “Cake?”

  “Does that interest you?”

  “Can I have some?”

  “If you’re willing to help me sing happy birthday to Mrs. Ramirez in 3C.”

  “The hell with 2B. I’ll be right there.”

  Minutes later, Cate answered Sharon’s knock.

  “Wow, I could smell the cake from the hall,” Sharon said. “Fresh-baked cake. From scratch. With frosting.”

  “From a mix,” Cate said, returning to the kitchen and sticking a single candle into the middle of the cake. “But you got the rest right.”

  “I think it’s great that you make everyone birthday cakes.”

  “It’s my thing,” Cate said. “I love making cakes. If I wasn’t going to teach school, I’d be a baker. And I like Mrs. Ramirez. She’s a good person, and I think she’s lonely. Her kids have all grown up and moved away, and now it’s just Mrs. Ramirez and her cat.”

  Sharon wandered into the living room while Cate tossed a handful of rainbow-colored sprinkles onto the cake top.

  “Have you every wondered how Marty can afford this apartment?” Sharon asked Cate.

  Cate pocketed her key and carried the cake out to Sharon. “Marty sings at the bar and at private parties.”

  “Yes, but look at this place. The furnishings are expensive and the artwork is signed. He has two Andy Warhol endangered species prints in this room. There’s a Picasso series in the hall, and I remember when you took me on a tour . . . there’s a Miro in the master bath! He has a Porsche parked in the underground garage. He wears designer clothes, and he has fabulous jewelry.”

  “Maybe Marty’s family has money,” Cate said, easing Sharon out the door.

  “Does Marty ever talk about his family?”

  “No. We’ve been roommates for almost a year, but we don’t actually do much talking. Marty usually sleeps until eleven, and by then I’m either at class or at the library. I come back to the condo, make a peanut butter sandwich, and I’m off to work. I come home from work and crash into bed. And half the time Marty isn’t even in town.”

  “Does he have boyfriends?”

  “Probably, but he doesn’t bring them here.”

  They rode one floor down in the elevator, exited, and marched to Mrs. Ramirez’s door. They sang “Happy Birthday” to Mrs. Ramirez, ate some cake with her, and then they went their separate ways . . . Sharon to resume her surveillance of 2B and Cate returned to her condo.

  Patrick Pugg was at Cate’s condo door when she stepped out of the elevator.

  “Pugg was afraid he missed you,” he said when he saw Cate.

  “I was just downstairs.” Cate unlocked her door. “What are you doing here?”

  “Pugg came to visit.”

  “I’m kind of busy right now.”

  “Pugg can come back later.”

  “Well, gee, I have to work later.”

  “Pugg can walk you to work.”

  “No.”

  “Pugg doesn’t understand no.”

  “Shouldn’t you be selling tires?”

  “Pugg is on his lunch hour.”

  “You’re probably a really nice guy,” Cate said, “but I have to be honest. I’m just not interested.”

  “Pugg is crushed.”

  “The fact that I kneed you in the groin last time I saw you must have given you some indication.”

  “Pugg thought you were playing hard to get.”

  Cate slipped into the condo and closed and locked the door. She looked out the security peephole. Pugg was still there. Don’t panic, she thought. He’ll go away.

  An hour later, Marty swept into the condo. “There’s a hairy little man in the hall. He says he belongs to you.”

  “He’s mistaken.”

  “Thank goodness. So far I’ve had a hideous day. My agent is a pig. He’s going to have to be replaced. And Kitty Bergman is a bitch. I hate and loathe Kitty Bergman.”

  “I thought you loved Kitty Bergman.”

  “That was yesterday. Have there been any calls for me?”

  “Someone’s calling every hour and hanging up when I answer.”

  “That’s not good,” Marty said. “That’s not good at all.”

  “Do you have a problem?”

  “Heavens, no. Some razor burn on my chest, but aside from that . . .”

  The phone rang, and Marty and Cate stared at it in silence.

  “You should answer it,” Marty finally said.

  “Hello?” Cate said into the phone.

  “I want to talk to Marty.” It was the raspy-voiced guy again.

  Marty was vigorously shaking his head . . . no, no, no.

  “Marty isn’t available.”

  “I know Marty’s there. I saw him go into the building.”

  “Sorry, I haven’t seen him.”

  “You’re a lying bitch. Tell Marty I’m outside, waiting.”

  And he disconnected.

  “He called me a bitch, and he said he’s outside waiting,” Cate said to Marty.

  “This is a real pain in the ass,” Marty said. “This is turning into one of those days. I’m going to go to my room and take a pill and pack.”

  “I thought you had a party tonight.”

  “I do. It’s in Aruba.”

  Chapter

  THREE

  At ten minutes to five, Cate rushed out of the condo and ran into Pugg, s
till waiting in the hall.

  “What the heck?” Cate said.

  “Pugg got off work at four, so Pugg came back.”

  Marty was long gone, but an hour ago Cate had gotten another hang up, so she thought running into Pugg might be an okay thing. Truth is, she was feeling a little freaked out by Marty and the phone calls, and she wouldn’t mind having someone walk out of the building with her.

  “Here’s the deal,” Cate said. “The boyfriend-girlfriend thing isn’t going to work for us, but we could be friends.”

  “Pugg was in the market for a girlfriend.”

  Cate checked her watch. She was going to be late. “Pugg’s going to have to settle,” Cate said.

  “If we’re just friends, does Pugg get any?”

  “Any what?”

  “You know . . . whoopee do. Does Pugg get to hide the salami? Pugg has needs.”

  “Pugg’s going to have to take care of his own needs,” Cate said, heading for the elevator.

  “Will you watch?”

  “No!”

  Seconds later, Cate was on the street, head down, power walking to Evian’s.

  “Cate has long legs,” Pugg said, trotting beside Cate and breathing heavily, trying to keep up. “Pugg likes that in a woman.”

  Cate stopped outside the bar and looked at Pugg. He was an obnoxious little bugger, but she had to give him points for persistence and a positive attitude.

  “Thanks for walking me to the bar,” Cate said.

  “Pugg will stay here and walk you home.”

  “No walking home,” Cate said. “None. Nada. No way.”

  “Pugg doesn’t understand no.”

  Cate blew out a sigh and went into the building.

  Thirty minutes before closing, Kellen McBride walked in and claimed a bar stool. Cate’s heart involuntarily skipped a beat, and she mentally scolded herself about getting a grip. Okay, so he was a great-looking guy. And he was charming. And he was a flirt. All fun things, but no reason to get unhinged.

  “Pick your poison,” Cate said to him.

  “Surprise me.”

  Cate drew a draft and started a tab.

  “Not a lot going on tonight,” Kellen said.

  “Marty isn’t singing. Customers always drop off when Marty isn’t here.”

  “Are you friendly with Marty?”

  “Moderately. Why, do you want an introduction?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m just making conversation. Don’t want you to nod off on your shift.”

  Cate looked down the bar. Less than half the stools were in use. And no one required her attention. Everyone was nursing a drink and watching the overhead television.

  “So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” Kellen asked.

  “I’m putting myself through college,” Cate said. “It’s perfect. I work nights and go to school days. It’s between semesters right now so I’m kind of lost during the day. I’m not used to having free time.”

  “I could help with the free time,” Kellen said.

  “Spoken like my brother’s banker.”

  “I occasionally work for a bank, but I’m not a banker. And I don’t know your brother.”

  “Swear on the blood of your ancestors?”

  “That sounds a little grim, even for an Irish girl, but yeah, I swear. What’s the deal with the banker?”

  “My family is working hard to find me a husband. They mean well, but I don’t want a husband right now.”

  Oh great, Kellen thought, doing a mental grimace. The woman had principles, worthy goals, and determination. Not only did she have those big, beautiful brown eyes, she had some intelligence behind them. Just what he didn’t need.

  “You have other priorities . . . like school.”

  “Exactly.”

  Cate caught movement in her peripheral vision and turned to catch Pugg motoring over to the bar.

  “What’s this?” Pugg asked, pulling up next to Kellen. “Pugg senses someone moving in on his squeeze.”

  Kellen looked down at Pugg and smiled. “Kellen McBride,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Patrick Pugg.”

  “I’m not your squeeze,” Cate said to Pugg, her voice low, hoping to avoid a scene.

  “Pugg has plans.”

  “Pugg is a nut,” Cate said, just slightly louder.

  “Many people have said this to Pugg, but Pugg is not deterred so easily. Pugg will be waiting outside to walk you home.”

  “No!” Cate said. “And if you tell me Pugg doesn’t understand no, I’ll have you bodily evicted from the bar.”

  “Then Pugg’s lips are sealed, but you know what Pugg is thinking.”

  “I’m walking Cate home,” Kellen said to Pugg.

  “Pugg doesn’t believe this.”

  “It’s true,” Cate said. “He’s my . . . boyfriend.”

  “Pugg was told you were available. Pugg was told you were desperate for a roll in the hay. Maybe not in so many words, but Pugg felt it was implied.”

  “Kellen and I roll in the hay a lot,” Cate said.

  “Cate’s mother didn’t tell any of this to Pugg.”

  “She doesn’t know,” Cate said. “Kellen is a secret. I didn’t think my mother would approve.”

  “Why wouldn’t your mother approve?” Pugg asked.

  “It’s my job,” Kellen said. “I kill people. It pays well, but it’s not universally socially acceptable.”

  “Pugg thinks you might be pulling Pugg’s leg, but then Pugg isn’t entirely sure. You could look like a killer. Pugg will wait outside and watch from a respectful distance.”

  “Do I really look like a killer?” Kellen asked Cate.

  Cate studied him. He had laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, but there was something else there, too. Grit, Cate thought. He was older than she was, and had seen more of life. And she suspected not all of what he’d seen had been good. “You don’t look like a killer,” Cate said, “but you look like you could kill if you had to.”

  There was no change in Kellen’s expression. His eyes were steady and noncommittal, and his mouth remained soft with a hint of a smile at the corners. And Cate knew she was frighteningly close to the truth.

  “I’ll wait and walk you out,” Kellen said. “Don’t want you to look like a big fibber.”

  “Thanks,” Cate said, wondering if she might not have been safer with Pugg.

  Evian’s closed at eleven on Mondays. Gerald Evian, owner in residence, dimmed the lights at 10:50, and the few remaining customers silently left their stools and wandered out. By five after eleven the registers were empty, the bottles were capped, and all the glasses were clean. Evian unlocked the door for Cate and Kellen, and they stepped out of the cool bar air into the warm night.

  Pugg was waiting on the sidewalk. “Pugg decided there was something fishy going on, so Pugg is waiting to be convinced,” Pugg said.

  Kellen pulled Cate to him and kissed her. It was gentle and lingering, and there was just a touch of tongue. Not so much that Cate felt he deserved a knee in the groin, but enough to give her an unexpected rush.

  “Okay,” Pugg said. “Pugg is temporarily convinced. Cate didn’t drop-kick Kellen when Kellen kissed her, but Pugg still thinks there’s something rotten in Denmark. Are you sure you don’t want Pugg to walk you home, too?” he asked Cate.

  “I’ll be fine,” Cate said, “but thank you for offering.”

  “Pugg would put himself at personal risk for you. Pugg would carry you over mud puddles and walk on burning coals. Pugg would fly you to the moon.”

  “Gotta go now,” Cate said, inching away.

  “Pugg would climb the highest mountain. Pugg would rush into a burning building. Pugg would share his dessert.”

  Cate and Kellen were half a block away, but they could still hear Pugg.

  “Pugg would kill spiders and snakes and slugs and yucky things. Pugg would let you spank him.”

  Kellen burst out laughing, and Cate clapped h
er hands over her ears and sprinted across the street.

  Four blocks later, Cate stopped in front of Marty’s condo building. “I’m sorry about Pugg.”

  “He’s okay,” Kellen said. “He’s just trying too hard. He needs to chill a little.” Kellen glanced at the building. “Is this where you live?”

  “Yes. I sublet a room from someone.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d want to invite me up.”

  “No, but I appreciate the rescue from Pugg.”

  “Another kiss?”

  Cate smiled and key-fobbed the secure door open. “One was enough.”

  “Not for me,” Kellen said. And it occurred to him that he might be in over his head on this one. He was liking Cate Madigan way too much.

  The morning had been quiet so far. No threatening phone calls. No impromptu visits from Patrick Pugg. Marty was gone, and he hadn’t been specific about his return. It was a little after nine, and in the silent condo, with little to distract her, Cate was having a hard time forgetting Kellen McBride and the kiss. Truth was, it had been a fantastic, spectacular kiss.

  Cate’s intercom buzzed, and her first reaction was to mutter a small prayer that it wasn’t Pugg.

  “Yes?” she said into the intercom.

  “Delivery for Martin Longfellow.”

  Cate pushed the button to open the downstairs door. “Come on up.”

  Minutes later, when the doorbell chimed, Cate opened the door with her coffee in hand and gaped at the man and dog standing in the hall. The man was average height and weight, wearing a shirt that said Rudy’s Security. The dog was a huge, slobbering beast.

  “Dog delivery,” the man said.

  “You have the wrong apartment.”

  “It says here on the form that I gotta take him to 4A, and this here’s 4A.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t order a dog.”

  “Well, sweetheart, someone did.” He ripped the top sheet off the form and handed it to Cate. “Looks like the dog was bought by a guy named Marty Longfellow. I got a packet for you too. All the papers are in the packet.”

  “No way.”